Copacabana Dreams
by Initial A
Summary: Two people taking part in the most elite competition in the world. Emma wants to prove that she and her teammate Elsa deserve to be here. Killian wants a second chance after being unable to compete in the 2012 games. Both just want to find a quiet moment to make use of some of those 450,000 condoms the Rio Olympic committee provided.
1. Week One

**I'm caught with Olympic fever and also several fic prompts to fill all in one go. A fic in two parts.**

* * *

The first time he saw her was on the monitors in the arena adjacent to Maracanã. Will was busy griping in his ear about the order of entry while Robin made sympathetic noises to try and shut him up - not their fault that Brazilian Portuguese put the Americans before Team GB - but a flash of blonde hair and an overwhelmed (but brilliant) smile on the broadcast distracted Killian from Will's language woes. This, naturally, did not go unnoticed, and Will's own attention was diverted from the Parade of Nations to taking the piss out of Killian.

Killian had to remind himself several time that an Olympic-level rugby player could kick his sorry arse up and down the beachfront several times without breaking a sweat, and took the abuse with grace and no fisticuffs.

"He's just looking for a friendly face to keep him company when we take our leave," Robin said at one point, valiantly trying to save Killian from Will's teasing.

At this point they'd started to move across the grounds towards Maracanã, to take their place in line for the grand show. Robin did have a point - he was competing in the morning and Will had practice; both had chosen to walk in the parade under the condition of leaving immediately after to be well-rested. Killian, on the other hand, had several days before competing and hadn't gotten to know many of the others on Team GB well. Will merely shrugged. "Don't matter, bloody dog's been here four days and already trying to bed the competition."

"If they didn't want us to bed each other, as you so chastely put it," Killian said, undoing another button on his shirt - didn't this country know it was supposed to be _winter_ here? - and wishing he could completely remove the blazer, "the planning committee wouldn't have provided us with so many means to do so safely."

That part was true. It was by no means a secret that most of the athletes here would celebrate their wins or mourn their losses with each other in their beds - if it wasn't expected, the 450,000 condoms in the athlete's village were certainly going to go to waste - and why shouldn't they? The top athletes in the world gathered in one place, all of them attractive and in the best shape of their lives? It was no wonder if libidos ran a bit high. Containing the spread of potential STIs and headline-grabbing viruses aside, it was better to play it safe than have countries vying for dibs on the super-athlete babies that might come from an unprotected coupling.

Will opened his mouth to retort, but an overly cheerful Brazilian volunteer was shoving little Union flags into their hands and Killian remembered almost too late to take his phone out to record the moment they were announced; Liam was somewhere over the Atlantic, unable to make it for the ceremony, but as Killian's first event wasn't until Wednesday so he didn't mind it so much. It wasn't as if there wouldn't be recordings of it all over the internet soon enough anyway.

Most of their entrance and the rest of the ceremony was a blur. The stadium was loud and conversations had to be shouted to be heard; Killian lost track of Will and Robin soon after they were allowed to roam with the other athletes, but he was sure they'd left to go back to their rooms. He knew Will could probably practice with less sleep but Robin needed steady arms to stand a chance against the Koreans in archery, so he didn't begrudge them in the least.

Killian wandered amongst the crowd as the rest of the world quite literally poured into the stadium; he turned on the charm to hide the awe he felt at meeting some of the athletes he'd watched in London four years ago, he took selfies for himself and with others who - by some grace of God - thought of _him_ as someone of admirable skill, and he had an idle thought in the back of his mind about finding that blonde American with the overwhelmed yet brilliant smile.

Though, as he made his way towards Team USA, he realized his plan may have a few faults - namely in that most of the team seemed to be overwhelmed, that there were several brilliant smiles sent his way by both men and women, and that approximately half of them seemed to be blonde. And with more than five hundred people on the American side alone, it might take some time to find his mysterious lady.

Well, Killian mused with a shrug, he did always love a challenge. He wouldn't be in the biggest competition in the world if he didn't.

* * *

Emma tied off her braided ponytail with a bit more force than necessary, her nerves finally getting the better of her. It was rough coming into the Olympics in the shadow of the golden girls - though since Misty had retired and Kerri was competing with April, most of the media focus was on the new team comprised of former rivals. What little was spared to Emma and Elsa was focused on "the narrative" - the foster sisters who could be twins, the girls from rural Minnesota who hadn't seen an ocean in person until they were sixteen, the girls who thought they could outshine the _golden_ girls; and those were the _nice_ narratives. Emma's heard it all at this point and learned to tune most of it out as gibberish, but to hear over and over again how they were too young, too inexperienced, nowhere in the same league as Kerri or April…

Sometimes the media was worse than the actual competition.

Something must have shown on her face, because Elsa dropped her towel over Emma's head. "We wouldn't be here if we didn't deserve it," she said as Emma removed the towel with a scowl, hoping it hadn't pulled any hairs loose. "They're trying to psych you out."

"I know," Emma mumbled, reaching into her bag for her iPod.

"Do you know, or are you trying to placate me?" Elsa asked.

Emma sighed, then let her sister's words sink in. After a moment, she looked up, meeting Elsa's eyes. "I know," she said, more confidently this time.

Elsa nodded. "Good. Now slap those headphones on and let's watch the competition get crushed."

Emma did so; she'd gotten over how ridiculous she looked with the giant headphones on a long time ago. Sacrificing her vanity for the sake of noise-canceling headphones seemed a small price to pay if it meant less time for the crowds to get to her. Slinging her water bottle over her shoulder and her towel in hand, Emma followed her sister out to the stands.

* * *

"Mate, we don't even have a beach volleyball team," Killian said, trailing behind Robin as they made their way to Copacabana.

"True, yes, but my Olympics are over and yours are a few days from now, so let's enjoy ourselves a bit. The Australians are competing tonight; they're still part of the commonwealth, we'll show some support, aye?" Robin asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Killian nodded, still a bit reluctant but determined to keep Robin company tonight; he'd seen Liam earlier in the day, but the jet lag caught up with him and that left Killian with time to spare in the evening. Robin's wife Regina was at home with their two boys - Roland had come down with the chicken pox and Henry had volunteer hours to fill before term began - so that left Killian to help his friend nurse his sore pride at being eliminated on day one of competition. If that meant watching attractive women beat a volleyball around for a few hours instead of drowning sorrows at the bottom of a pint, then that would be Killian's cross to bear.

He'd had no luck so far in locating the mysterious woman from last night, but that didn't mean much. She could have been in any number of the smaller events that took place over the course of the day; he doubted very much that a swimmer would have marched in the parade, but look at that Phelps fellow. Perhaps she'd come in and walked right back out again. Or perhaps she'd been watching friends compete or training for her later events. There were plenty of reasons why he had yet to cross paths with her, and there were still almost two full weeks left to seek her out.

"Oh good, we're just in time," Robin said as they hurried into the athlete's section. "Looks like they're up against the Americans."

Killian glanced down at the field as he sat on the bleachers, then did a double take. The two American women looked remarkably similar, but as the one woman turned to discuss something with an official, he realized it was _her_.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

Robin made a move to speak, then made a noise of understanding. "You don't set your sights low, mate."

"Where's the fun in that?" Killian murmured, suddenly much more interested in the event to come.

It didn't take long to figure out her name was Emma Swan, that her teammate was her sister Elsa Adgarssen, and that this was their first Olympics. And it took even less time for Killian to decide that, while he definitely appreciated every part of her form that was helpfully visible thanks to their uniform, he would have to offer his thanks to whichever deity that had decided Emma Swan deserved miles of tanned and toned legs. Her left knee was taped fairly heavily, while her sister's shoulder on her serving arm suffered the same treatment, and it seemed to hinder her slightly when it came to spiking. Elsa seemed to take the jumps more often - and well, she rarely hit out-of-bounds - while Emma spent a lot of her time either setting Elsa up or diving to keep the ball alive, so to speak.

After enough dives, he understood why her knee was taped. She played hard, and she played well.

Killian wondered passively if her leg injury hindered her as much as his hand injury did. Thankfully, fencing really only required one hand and his good hand at that, whereas Emma Swan needed both of her legs to compete.

Admittedly, it didn't appear to hinder her too much. Team USA walked away from the match with a hearty win, Emma and her sister jumping on each other and hugging like they'd won a medal already. As they disappeared back into the locker rooms, Killian was seized with the urge to leave a message for her to meet him outside after. Or would that be considered too forward?

He asked Robin point blank, and his friend had the gall to laugh. "You have got it bad, don't you?"

"Yes or no, Rob, it's not that hard."

Robin just shook his head, grinning. "All right, lad, I'll enable you. Go on - but don't get your head up your arse too much over the lady, you've got matches in three days!" he called as Killian got up and headed back towards the stairs.

He knew that; while everyone was fairly well aware of the condom situation in the athlete's village, most of the athletes were choosing to pass until their events finished. Killian's coaches had made comments about wasted energy during practice that morning, but quite honestly Killian couldn't see the difference between a one-nighter with a woman he'd met at a pub followed up by rolling out of bed the next morning for training or a competition, and this.

Then again, _this_ was only the biggest competition of his life, the culmination of everything he'd been working for since uni, the second chance after being unable to compete in the 2012 trials after the accident that had damaged his left hand. So perhaps he did see their point.

Slightly.

There was a woman standing outside of the locker room entrance and judging by her looks he could only assume this was Emma and Elsa's mother. The woman nodded towards Killian's Team GB windbreaker. "I didn't think the Brits had a volleyball team this year," she said.

Killian scratched under his ear, a nervous tic he'd never quite been able to shake. "Aye, we don't. I was, ah, hoping to congratulate your daughters on their victory."

The woman's sidelong gaze made him a bit uncomfortable, as if she could read his mind and knew all his secrets. After a moment, her face relaxed as she smiled. "Elsa's my niece, Emma's my adopted daughter. The media likes to simplify things."

"Aye," Killian said, nodding and unsure what else to say to that.

She stuck her hand out and he took it, pleasantly surprised by her firm grip. "Ingrid Fisher. And I have a feeling you aren't here to see both of my girls," she added, a knowing look in her eye.

"Killian Jones," he said, dropping her hand. "You'd be right, but it would be bad form to compliment one while leaving out the other."

Ingrid's smile would baffle even the most competent of Mona Lisa's scholars. "Now, let's see," she said, stepping back and looking him over. "Not a swimmer, they're all cloistered in the aquatic center for the next week. You're not slim enough to be in equestrian, though your calves could put you in track and field… You'd make a good high-jumper or pole-vaulter, Mr. Jones."

He barked a laugh at that. He suspected that pole-vaulters needed two good hands to get themselves over the bar, but didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to it. "My thanks, Ms. Fisher, but I fence."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, how wonderful! I was in the fencing club when I was in college, back when the dinosaurs took us to school."

He laughed at that, as she'd meant him to, and found himself in a pleasant discussion for the next several minutes. It was quite nice to talk with someone who knew the vernacular who he wasn't directly competing with or had trained with for years, even if most of Ingrid's exposure since university had been past Olympic events. He was in the middle of discussing his training regimen when voices sounded from the locker room. "I'm starting to see what Lily meant by that hourglass joke," one woman was saying. "I swear I've never had so much sand up my - oh!"

Emma Swan stopped short at the door, causing Elsa Adgarssen to run right into her from behind. Killian's eyes met Emma's and he was quite enchanted to discover that, instead of the expected blue, they were a deep green. "Swan," he said, unable to stop the grin from spreading on his face. "At last."

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded him with a bit of confusion and not an insignificant amount of suspicion. "Do I know you?"

He shook his head. "Apologies, no. My name is Killian Jones, I just wanted to congratulate you and your sister on your victory tonight."

He stuck out his hand and she took it with some caution. Ingrid traded a look with Elsa. "Elsa, dear, Mr. Jones had something he wished to discuss with Emma - privately." At that, Emma looked at her mother with some alarm; Ingrid just smiled. "We'll wait for you outside, sweetheart, don't worry."

Killian was sure her family was hardly out of earshot before Emma asked him bluntly, "What could you possibly have to discuss with me? I'm not facing any of your teammates, we don't play the same sport, I've only heard your name in passing -"

"Ah, so you've heard of me," Killian interrupted her litany of excuses for leaving the conversation early. "I'm flattered, love." She glared at him for that, crossing her arms over her chest; he didn't need to tell himself not to look, the Team USA windbreaker was just as unflattering to the form as the Team GB one. Undeterred by her body language, he continued, "Rest assured, Swan, I have no intentions on your honor tonight. I merely wanted to congratulate you on your performance and introduce myself."

"Tonight," Emma repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Meaning you have intentions on another night?"

He canted his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow up. "Perhaps. However, seeing as we both have continuing events over the next several days, it may be wise to channel our energies towards our purpose for being here."

"Uh-huh," she said flatly.

" _However_ ," he continued, "should you find yourself in need of company at mealtimes, please consider this a standing invitation to join me at any time."

The other eyebrow went up this time as she regarded him distrustfully. "And your other intentions?" she asked.

He grinned. He found himself appreciating that she wasn't immediately taking him up on anything yet she wasn't playing games either. She saw right through him and kept straight to the point - it was refreshing, to say the least. "As I said, Swan. We're both here for a reason and I daresay your coaches have had the same discussions with you as mine have in regards to energy conservation - and not in the way the opening ceremonies preached last night. Share a meal or two with me, we'll talk and get to know one another like civilized people who happen to eat an absurd amount of calories per day. Doubtless we'll find something in common. And if you find yourself in need of a partner to celebrate or to vent frustrations with… My services are on the table."

She stared at him for a long moment, her face hard to get a good read on. Finally, she glanced away, a wry twist to her mouth. "You always think that stuff about everyone hooking up is just media bullshit, sensationalizing one or two couples - what was Sochi supposed to be, the Tinder Olympics?"

Killian snorted, turning and gesturing for her to lead the way down the hall. "I believe so, though that could be due to the dead of winter in Russia requiring people to share body heat."

Emma made a sound like a laugh that was quickly covered by a cough. "Well, Killian Jones, I have a pretty relentless schedule over the next two weeks; if I make it that far we don't medal until next Thursday. Think you can keep your interest for that long?"

He stumbled slightly, realizing that she was giving him an inch. He'd do his best to not take the whole mile, to get to know Emma Swan with the obscenely short white shorts and the glowing tanned skin. He swallowed, then glanced down, appreciating her sandal choice and that she'd gotten a pedicure in red, white, and blue. "For you, love, I've all the time in the world."

* * *

She surprised herself by taking him up on the offer for mealtime company. Elsa had made friends with some of the others on the team and while Emma liked them well enough, she found herself vividly reliving high school and feeling like the pity friend. Even if he'd approached her with the intention of eventually hooking up, at least Killian seemed interested in _her_ and not as an afterthought. She met his friends Will - rugby sevens - and Robin - archery, already knocked out - and also found herself in the company of a tiny Australian gymnast who went by Tink and an equestrian rider named Belle; the two seemed to come in a pair, though Emma got the feeling that Will's intentions towards Belle were very like Killian's intentions towards Emma herself.

As for Killian himself, Emma found herself actually enjoying his company. He didn't make passes at her or pressure her into anything - he flirted a bit, but after a while she noticed he seemed to do that with everyone. Even after the others would leave to their respective coaching sessions or competitions, he talked to her, asked questions, tried to get to know her.

Normally, she clammed up when people tried to pry, and at first she did. But Killian was patient with her, changing the subject until she relaxed and answered the earlier question. She did her best to ask questions of her own, but it felt useless: Killian seemed more than happy to fill her in on details about himself, whether she asked him to or not.

For a guy who probably still wanted to get into her pants, at least he was good company.

It wasn't all fun and games - well, it _was_ , but her definition of fun and games was heading out onto the courts and kicking some ass. It would have been nice to hang out and get to know some of the other athletes better - that was what half of the point of the Olympics was about, after all, fostering the international community - but she was also there to do a job. She was there to win games and prove that she and Elsa weren't _just_ the second team, that they deserved to be there just as much as Kerri and April, and that they were a force to be reckoned with.

For the most part, they succeeded.

She had Wednesday afternoon and evening off and found herself at the Carioca Arena to watch Killian's competition; she was a little jealous that his entire competition would be over, at the latest, by 9pm and all in one day, but she would also be the first to admit that she was talking through the irritation of an ice pack Saran wrapped to her knee.

Elsa had one on her shoulder, but her lucky ass of a sister seemed to be immune to the cold.

The nice thing about the Carioca was that it was dark, most of the attention focused on the playing field in the middle. Even with her Team USA gear on and the obvious "I Play Sports, Look At My Ice Packs, I Got Injured Playing Sports" sign on her leg, no one seemed inclined to comment or ask questions and Emma would rather put that up as the atmosphere rather than no one knowing who she was.

It was better that way.

So much of her life had been spent on the courts, honing her skills and perfecting her form, that Emma found herself bewildered while watching the fencing. She knew absolutely nothing about it, just that her mom had done it for fun at school and that Killian had tried to be in shape for the London Olympics and something had kept him from competing. So she settled in, watching closely, and hoping she didn't annoy her neighbors too much if she asked a question or two.

Over the course of the evening, she learned there were several different types of fencing, and the two competing tonight were individual foils and sabres. Sabres seemed flashier to her untrained eye, and it was weird to see all the gear they had to wear for something that wasn't even going to draw blood. The helmets and what felt like half the arena lighting up to prove who struck first seemed like a genius move, though, because Emma was sure the competitors moved too fast for even a trained judge to see clearly.

She wasn't expecting Killian to be so _fast_ though. He liked to taunt, drawing his opponent back and catching him off guard from a false sense of security. He won a few matches that way. It took a while for his opponents to catch on, but by the time the gold medal match came around, Killian's opponent knew most of his tricks.

But Killian knew his opponent's as well.

Emma kept forgetting to breathe, every time the judge called them to arms she'd hold her breath - as if not disturbing the moment somehow might let him win. (She was an athlete, she had her superstitions, it came in a package deal with the job.) It was tense, points going back and forth, ties broken and matched up again.

It came down to one point.

Emma was on her feet, too full of nerves to sit any longer, waiting for the signal. She sucked in a breath as the buzzer sounded - Killian moved first, probably hoping to catch the Romanian off-guard, but it was over in half a second when the buzzer sounded again. The Romanian's sabre had moved almost without notice, jabbing Killian before Killian's own sabre could land.

She sat, feeling both glad that he'd lasted this long and sad on his behalf for coming in second. There was a saying about silver medalists, that many were disappointed that they had come so close to gold, whereas bronze were just happy to be on the podium. She wrestled with these feelings as they cleaned up and got the medal presentation ready, wondering how she might feel if she made it through to next week and came in second.

She probably should have thought of this before, but it always seemed like too much bad luck to consider anything further than the next day's game. Now that she had these conflicting feelings just because someone she _knew_ was going through this…

Emma thought it was probably better to keep her head down, focus on the next game and nothing further. It would keep the inevitable disappointment at bay.

Still, she felt an odd sense of pride as Killian was awarded his silver medal. They'd really only traded the basics about their athletic history - she knew that he saw this as his second chance, that he'd been training for this for years, and maybe that was why she felt pride swelling in her chest as he almost absently reached up to fiddle with the circle of silver hanging on its bright lanyard.

His second chance, his first Olympics, and he would come away from it as the second-best in the entire world.

That wasn't anything to sneeze at.

As the flags were raised and the Romanian national anthem swelled over the speakers, Emma had the oddest sensation that Killian knew she was there - she hadn't mentioned she would come to watch him at all. When he glanced out at the stands, though, he paused right in the section she was in; maybe she was being silly and maybe he knew someone else in this general area, but something told her that the happy grin on his face wasn't just because he was about to have his picture taken a million (more) times.

She should have trusted her gut.

She knew where the locker rooms were - all of the athletes had gotten tours of all of the local facilities when they'd arrived, whether they'd compete there or not - and slowly made her way down to congratulate him. She felt like she owed him that much, as he'd done the same for her first win - even if that match hadn't been nearly as important as medaling, just staying afloat until the next match.

She wasn't even halfway down the hall when he spotted her as he came out of the locker room, a huge duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He broke into that same happy grin as he dropped his gear on the floor and jogged down the hall to meet her. Emma opened her mouth to congratulate him, but her words were immediately swallowed up when he pulled her in close and kissed her.

Every coherent thought in her head evaporated as all of her focus zeroed in on the feeling of his mouth against hers. The touch of his tongue against her lips sent a jolt of want down her spine, the shock of it causing her mouth to yield to his. His tongue slid along hers and her legs tingled all the way down to her toes, everywhere his body pressed against hers feeling like it was aflame.

Her awareness spread with that fire. He'd shaved that morning, the five o'clock shadow prickly against the skin of her chin, and he smelled like he'd spent nine hours competing for an Olympic medal - but Emma was an athlete and while she could say with confidence that sweat didn't turn her on, she couldn't say the same about the acts that had gone into building up that sweat. She'd seen him fight hard, battle for the silver that hung around his neck and that she felt pressed between her breasts.

She'd been too caught up in the newness and the learning to realize that watching Killian fence was probably the most arousing thing she'd seen in years.

His hands pressed against her back, sliding tentatively downwards and then back up to a safer area. Emma pushed back, kissing him harder as her own hands slid down his back to grab his ass - the hall was mostly deserted and it wasn't as if anyone there had never seen anyone making out after winning an Olympic medal.

She started to pull back slightly, give herself room to breathe and also to ask just _why_ one of his ass cheeks felt bigger and firmer than the other, but Killian muttered a hoarse " _No_ " before pulling her back to him.

God, she was drowning in this, dizzy from the passion and hardly aware of what was happening until her back hit the wall. She felt one of his hands grab her thigh, lifting her leg up to wrap around his waist, and she felt him hard against her core. Emma moaned into his mouth, rolling her hips up against his and craving more of that friction, that feeling that made her legs watery and her skin burn.

Killian was moving her other leg up, trying to press her against the wall and hold her against him at the same time, and Emma was happily complying, when someone down the hall cleared their throat loudly and pointedly. Emma's heart leapt into her throat as Killian broke off their kiss immediately, though he still held her up by her thighs and her arms stayed around his neck. He glanced down the hall and seemed to relax ever-so-slightly in recognition. "Liam."

* * *

 **Part 2 coming soon, reviews feed the muse! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Week Two

**Thanks for waiting patiently for this! There will be an epilogue next week, I couldn't resist. ENJOY!**

* * *

Happily, Liam appeared to have chosen to wait for him down the hall, sidestepping any awkwardness with introductions or explanations. Killian slowly, gently unwound Emma's legs from around his waist, gritting his teeth against the urge to rut his hips into hers as her body slid lazily down along his. God, he was sure he'd never been this hard in his life and they'd hardly touched one another. He ached for her, longed to feel her toned, athletic body under him and around him; he was sure he'd fit inside her perfectly, hot and wet and tight around his cock, but more than anything he'd wanted her to wrap those glorious long legs of hers around his waist and never release him again.

He took several breaths to try and calm his heated blood, arousal battling against the surge of irritation he felt at his brother's untimely arrival. "Apologies, love," Killian murmured, then frowned at the out-of-place sloshing sound as her feet hit the floor. He glanced down and saw what clearly used to be an ice pack wrapped up around her leg but was now mostly water. "Emma, what happened?"

He mentally berated himself for being too distracted to notice that she was injured, that he'd been rough with her. She gave him a very patient look, though a smile teased the corners of her lips. "I had surgery on my knee two years ago. Sometimes we do ice therapy to prolong the fact that I'll probably need another one before I'm forty."

He relaxed slightly, though it was a bit worrying that she spoke so casually about such a thing. "It's not -" He didn't want to insinuate that it might end her Olympics before they really began, thinking it might be bad luck - she and Elsa were quickly gaining more attention the longer they lasted, but he knew her event took up most of the games. Five days was essentially nothing in the grand scheme of things.

She knew what he hadn't said, shaking her head to dispel such notions. "I had a day off, I agreed that I should probably be proactive in taking care of myself. Elsa iced her shoulder too. Same thing the swimmers are doing with their hickey things, we just don't have the marks to prove it," Emma said.

Killian chuckled at that, recalling the wild speculation in the media over the cupping marks until someone had finally explained what the hell was going on. Emma glanced down the hall at Liam, something akin to unease in her eyes. If Killian hadn't felt another surge of irritation at the reminder of their interruption, he might have felt more pleased by the flush in her cheeks and the red, swollen moue of her lips. She smiled apologetically at him, then started to step away. "I'll leave you two to - whatever this is," she said.

"Emma, wait -" She paused, looking up at him expectantly. Killian tried to smile reassuringly. "It's just my brother Liam. I expect he wants to congratulate me, probably insist on going out to celebrate. Why don't you join us?"

She glanced down the hall again and he saw her blush deepen, the unease returning. "I shouldn't," she said quietly. "I compete tomorrow, I have curfew soon…"

Killian knew the difference between an excuse and a reason and Emma walked the fine line between them. But he also recognized that perhaps she was just embarrassed at being caught by someone, and particularly someone he knew.

"Congrats on the silver," she was saying, her voice still soft. "You did a great job."

He opened his mouth again - to stop her? To plead for her to reconsider? - but then realized she was right: the mood was gone, completely shattered by Liam's interruption. Instead he just nodded, perking up only slightly when, after only a moment of hesitation, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see you at breakfast, Killian."

He watched her leave, emotion warring in his chest; still irritated that they'd been interrupted, he was also pleased that she'd returned his spontaneous show of affection with enthusiasm and had parted with a quiet reassurance of her own. This was on top of the joy he'd felt at spotting her in the dim lighting of the arena earlier, happily surprised that she'd chosen to come and watch him compete; he'd felt that joy again when he'd seen her in the hall, only then it was compounded by the euphoric feeling of winning his first Olympic medal. He'd moved without thinking, needing to release these intense emotions _somewhere_ and figuring that nothing could cap his night off better than kissing Emma for the first time.

Granted, they'd both moved as if they wanted something a little more, something he would have been very happy following through with, but then Liam had shown up.

As Killian stalked down the hall to meet his brother, he resisted the urge to punch him in the arm in lieu of a greeting. Barely. Instead, he begrudgingly accepted Liam's congratulations. Though Killian could see the question in his brother's eyes, Liam didn't mention Emma and Killian didn't see a reason to give him a chance at taking the piss either. "Come on then," Liam said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'll have press in the morning, no doubt, but I'm taking you out for a celebratory pint anyway. My little brother, an Olympic medalist!"

"Younger," Killian muttered under his breath, but at this point it was almost pointless to correct him. In any other circumstances he'd be in better spirits about the pride he could hear in Liam's voice, but he felt a bit sore towards Liam and his poor timing. In a more normal tone, Killian said, "The BBC wants to meet early, probably a few others will be nearby for a sound bite, but I don't expect too much. There's a club not far off of campus, and you're buying dinner as well - I'm starving."

As they headed towards Killian's lodgings to stow his gear, he realized with a sardonic twist of his mouth that his position was drastically switched from the previous Saturday: when Robin had been eliminated, they'd gone to spend their time in the company of beautiful women; now, Killian was about to celebrate his second place finish at the bottom of a pint.

He'd rather wished the opposite were true then, and as Killian could still taste Emma on his lips and feel her hands roaming his body, he rather wished the opposite were true now.

* * *

Emma closed the door to her and Elsa's shared room with a quiet sigh of relief, leaning against it for a moment to get her bearings. She still burned from Killian's kisses, the feeling of his strong, calloused hands under her thighs, his cock pressed teasingly against her core - God, she just wanted to hit the showers and rub one out and get him out of her system for another couple of days.

Even as she thought that, she knew it wouldn't be enough. She had a taste of him now, and Emma wanted more.

As she rounded the corner into the small living room, she saw Elsa was Skyping with their sister Anna and their three-year old nephew Kai. "There's Auntie Emma!" Anna was saying, pointing towards Emma. "Say hi to Auntie Emma!"

"Hi Auntie Emma!"

Emma sat down next to Elsa and listened to her chat with Anna and Kai for a bit while she undid the wrapping around her knee. Anna had wanted to come down to support them, but she and Kristoff had worried about Kai being on a plane for that long when he'd never flown before. Emma and Elsa had insisted that it was fine if they stayed home - though Anna, being Anna, had gone out and had shirts made for the "home team" (her words, not Emma's) to wear in support while they were competing. Anna and Kristoff had shirts that read "Sisters Make the Best Team" on the front over the Olympic rings, and "Swan/Adgarssen Rio 2016" on the back, with the Rio logo. Kai's shirt was a bit different, the same back but the front of his read "Aunties Make the Best Team".

In fact, Kai was wearing his shirt right now, though Emma and Elsa didn't compete that day. "He's worn it every day since Friday," Anna explained as Kristoff came to take a yawning Kai to bed - it was way past his bedtime, even with the two hour time difference between them and home. "He sleeps in it, he goes out in it, he refuses to take it off except for bathtime and then we have to hurry and wash it so he'll actually put clothes back on. He just runs around in his training pants until it's out of the dryer, he won't sleep in pajamas."

Emma and Elsa traded smiles. That sounded about right. "Well, we appreciate the luck," Elsa said. "How's things otherwise?"

After another ten minutes or so, they saw it was almost lights-out, said their goodbyes and logged off. Elsa yawned. "God, I'm beat," she said, stretching and wincing as her shoulder popped. "We didn't even do anything today and I'm tired."

Emma nodded, though her day had been a bit more exciting than her sister's. She thought so, anyway. Elsa hadn't mentioned if she had her eye on anyone. "I think I'm going to shower tonight," Emma said, thinking of her earlier plan to get Killian out of her head for a while, "that way you can hog the bathroom in the morning."

Elsa smacked her with one of the couch pillows and Emma shoved it back at her, laughing the whole time. "You're the worst," Elsa declared, even as she grinned. "Go on, one of us shouldn't smell tonight."

Time spent talking with her family had only subdued the fire in her veins a little. As Emma stepped under the hot spray, running her hands across her body, the fire roared back to life. She washed quickly, acutely aware of the ache between her thighs and the need to relieve it. As the rest of the soap suds swirled down the drain, Emma leaned against one of the shower walls, cupping a breast in one hand as the other slipped between her legs.

She bit her lip as her finger brushed her clit, a jolt of lust shooting through her. She imagined Killian's hand in place of hers, his body pressing hers into the wall as he kissed her, fucked her with his fingers. Emma bit her lip to keep quiet, rolling her nipple between her fingers as she imagined all the dirty things Killian would whisper into her ear, determined to see her come at least a few times before taking her against the shower wall.

She'd seen him fight; even with the helmet on she could picture the calculating look on his face. A man with that kind of determination would never be satisfied without playing her body like a finely tuned instrument to its stirring conclusion.

She imagined his mouth on her breasts, pictured the sinfully pleased grin on his face when he'd make her cry out for him, envisioned that dark head between her thighs as he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder and plunged his tongue inside of her -

Emma breathed hard as she held back a cry, her orgasm taking her unexpectedly. She eased herself down and savored the little aftershocks as her fingers nudged her clit, distantly aware that the water was rapidly cooling. It felt nice on her warm skin, though. She rinsed off her fingers and turned the water off, her legs a little unsteady as she stepped out of the shower.

Drying off and drying her long hair took a little longer, even as she left her hair a bit damp; it was going to be braided up all day tomorrow anyway, she didn't particularly care if she woke up looking like a squirrel had nested in her hair overnight. As she went into her room and slipped into her sleeping shirt, her core still tingling pleasantly from her orgasm, she marveled at how the bed - the surprisingly comfortable, full-sized bed that had been good enough the night before - now felt slightly too big and too empty without anyone else in it.

And she hadn't even slept with him.

Yet.

 _Keep it together, Swan_ , Emma told herself, punching her pillow into shape and settling in. _You've got another long week ahead_.

* * *

It was, in fact, a very long week. Emma stuck to her tried and true mindset of thinking only one day ahead - the next game, then the next game, then the game after that. She never let herself think about medals or ceremonies or anthems playing while she and her sister shared a spot on the podium.

She might have dreamed about it, once or twice, but she didn't really have control over her subconscious.

No, she put her head down and kept fighting.

If she were to describe what that week was like, she would have said it was like someone put a glass wall between her and the outside world. She still went to conditioning on her days off from competing, she managed to block out the inane media reporting, and she still shared meals with Killian, but she mostly kept her focus on the task ahead: winning the next game.

Thankfully, Killian was an athlete too. He understood her laser focus, he didn't push her or cajole her into continuing what had been interrupted on Wednesday night. She was grateful for that - and she could admit to herself that it was nice when he'd walk her to the conditioning rooms, his hand large and warm as it held hers.

Emma noticed that the cheering section for her and Elsa would grow as other events concluded. Ingrid was there as always, in her own "Daughters Make the Best Team" shirt. Killian was also there every night, in his Team GB gear, sat next to who she assumed was his brother Liam. Robin would usually come by as well, as would Tink, Belle, and Will in their respective country's gear. Some of Elsa's new friends from Team USA would sit with them - Mary Margaret was an archer and her husband David had competed in the team foils for fencing.

Though Emma was very good at tuning out the crowd at this point in her career, it was still nice that their "away team" was just as loud as Kerri and April's.

"It's so dumb, we're all still Team USA," Emma grumbled after a hard-won victory on Tuesday night. She was checking Elsa's shoulder for any odd swelling while her sister chugged a Gatorade.

Elsa swallowed the rest of her drink and then inhaled deeply. "Well, we're still in the running," she said, clearing her throat. "It was one thing when there were more teams but the field narrowed, so it's all going to come down to who comes out with what piece of metal. It might come down to us versus them, and either way it will be a Team USA victory, but I'd bet people have their loyalties and don't want to cross them."

She was right, of course, but Emma was in a black mood and feeling stubborn; the officials hadn't overruled a penalty - God, she was so sick of hearing the Imperial March every time a challenge was issued, she'd never be able to watch _Star Wars_ the same way again. As a result, their win hadn't come with as wide a margin as Emma would have preferred.

"Come on, let's go rest up," Elsa said as Emma stepped back to let her slip her windbreaker back on. "We're getting down to the wire here, no time for stupid mistakes."

Ingrid and Killian were waiting for them outside the locker rooms. At this point, her family didn't question his presence (or the fact that he took her hand easily in his own) after matches. As Emma trudged wearily back to the athlete's village, she glanced up at Killian's easy smile and ever-present stubble every now and then, thinking that it might not be a _stupid_ mistake to sleep with him right now, but it might be a mistake she wouldn't regret _too_ much later.

* * *

If she thought about it, she'd hurl. Just stick her head right into the trash can, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

Everyone had wished them luck ages ago, just before Elsa had banished everyone from sight to make sure no one could make them any more nervous.

"How does everyone always say 'I felt great beforehand!' after?" Emma asked, her voice coming out as a croak.

"Illusion of confidence," Elsa said. She'd gone a bit robotic earlier, her own nerves getting the better of her. "Everyone thinks you knew you'd win, you were so sure of yourself, why would you be nervous when you know you're one of the best?"

"Everyone is full of shit. I'm gonna puke."

"Please don't. If you start, then I'll start and we'll get disqualified for being passed out and dehydrated on the locker room floors and I really don't think I can live that down."

Emma fiddled with the end of her braid. She couldn't think about the upcoming match - the gold medal match. God, the media was all over it, a repeat of the 2012 games: Team USA vs. Team USA, only this time April was on the team expected to win.

The fucking Narrative.

Emma wanted to win. She wanted to prove their worth, that everyone had been wrong to sideline them for this long, to keep the focus on the new golden girls. She wanted to win.

She wouldn't win if she was passed out from dehydration.

"Come on, let's get our stuff and watch the bronze match," she said finally.

Emma slipped her headphones on, listening to her pre-game playlist as she slid her windbreaker on with the hood up to keep her face hidden. She hoped they didn't have any cameras focused on the bullpen, she wasn't ready to become a meme with any faces she might make. As she and Elsa walked out to the waiting area, gear in hand, Emma let her music fill her brain, blocking out everything else until she felt the queasiness pass.

* * *

Had she been this nervous watching his match?

Killian sat next to Ingrid again, picking at his cuticles as the officials cleared the courts for the final game. Ingrid looked the picture of calm, her silvering-blonde hair plaited to match her daughters' and not a hint of worry in her eyes. Liam was on his other side, and the rest of their cheering section was slowly filling in. "I feel more nervous now than I did for my own event," Killian admitted.

"She'll do fine, brother," Liam said. They'd discussed Killian's keen new interest in the sport several days before, Liam mercifully holding back on teasing him too much. He'd expressed concern about Emma distracting him during Killian's own medal match, but Killian had been quick to set his brother straight.

Killian was quite proud of his silver. He'd have liked the gold, but his opponent had just been better. That was how it worked. And now, he had a new goal to work towards.

"I don't understand how you're so bloody calm," Killian said.

Her smile was almost unreadable, but he could see a tiny speck of concern there. "They're coming out of this with a medal no matter what. A month ago, neither one would even speculate about it - they try to hide it but they're both so superstitious. So I'm proud of them for making it this far, for doing what they came here to do. I'm not worried because they're still winning. Now we just have to wait and see where the chips fall."

"Wise words, Mrs. Fisher," Liam said.

Killian settled back in his seat, nerves churning in his gut but still placated a bit by her speech. Nothing to do now but wait.

The stadium roared when both teams walked out into the sand. Despite his nerves, Killian's heart surged with pride as Emma quietly acknowledged the crowd, then went about her warmups with Elsa. At first he'd wondered why they bothered with visors and protective eyewear - many of the matches had taken place at night - but Emma had explained about sweat and stray hairs and sand, not to mention the stadium lights.

He was so used to competing in near-darkness, forgetting how he'd first felt in the dim atmosphere, that it hadn't occurred to him that she could be bothered by so much light.

The match itself was tense. Much like his own, the points easily went back and forth, ties broken just as quickly as they'd been made. It never seemed to be any closer to ending. The women on the court were amazing to watch - both sides seemed to read each other's minds, flowing like water to the perfect position to keep the ball in the air. Emma made several spectacular dives, her skin coated in sand that stuck to all the sweat. At one point, Killian was sure Elsa's spike would take out one of her opponents' heads.

It was a match worthy of the medals they'd win.

And as it came down to the last point, he felt himself holding his breath before Elsa served.

* * *

She missed, but she was too tired to beat herself up for it.

Her knee felt fine, she hadn't hurt anything else, she'd thought she'd read Kerri's volley correctly. Emma had dived but she'd just been too far away.

And the better team had won.

Emma and Elsa hugged each other fiercely; she was proud that neither of them had tears in their eyes. They'd done well, no one could say they hadn't played their best. The better team had just come out on top.

Kerri and April surprised them both by coming over and hugging them as well. Elsa had been right there, too - it was still a Team USA victory, just a matter of how things stacked up. "That was awesome," Kerri said in Emma's ear, over the roar of the stadium.

"Seriously, great game," April added, stepping away from Elsa. "Don't you dare beat yourselves up over that. Nobody expected anything out of you, and you showed them all up. Keep your heads up, and there's always next time."

She winked, and Emma supposed that April Ross would be the one to know.

The medal ceremony was a surreal moment. The silver medal hung heavily around her neck and she couldn't stop fiddling with it, even after their photos were taken. In the past, Emma had wondered how people could get emotional while hearing a song they heard at the beginning of every single sporting event in America and several times a day during the games; yet even though she knew it wasn't for _her_ , the national anthem playing while she stood on an Olympic podium next to her sister still made Emma tear up.

It wasn't the anthem itself. It was the moment as a whole.

She leaned against Elsa, who put her arm around her as the anthem finished and the crowd erupted into cheers once again.

* * *

He would never, ever be able to repay Ingrid or Elsa for suggesting they wait to go out to celebrate until after the press junket in the morning. The knowing look in Ingrid's eye and the barely-contained happiness on Elsa's face aside, Killian appreciated the opportunity to escort Emma away on their own.

He might also owe a fiver or two for Will arranging to spend the night elsewhere, though Will might refuse after finally succeeding with his new friend Belle.

Emma's hand was warm in his and her gaze warmer whenever their eyes met as they walked back to his lodgings; she was freshly showered after her post-game interviews, something he asked her about. She laughed. "I get sand in places I never knew existed. Believe me, the shower was needed."

"Pity, when you'll just be needing one again later," Killian said, feeling bold with the thought of what was to come.

She nudged him. "Planning on putting me through my paces, Jones?"

He wanted to quip about Belle and Will, but thought that perhaps it might ruin the mood. Instead he said, "Perhaps, but I also had a delightful dream about you the other night involving a shower and I'd hoped to reenact it at some point."

She hummed thoughtfully. "Interesting. I, ah, happened to take care of a little issue in my own shower last week. You played a pretty big part in it."

All of the blood in his body rushed south at that admission. "Bloody hell..." he muttered, picking up the pace. "I'd like to hear about that," he continued, her giggles as he practically dragged her along sounding wonderful to his ears, "in as much excruciating detail as you can muster."

Killian had no earthly idea how they made it up to his rooms without stripping anything off. The elevator was torture, Emma leaning against his front and lightly grinding her arse against his straining cock, all the while he could see the reflection of her completely innocent face in the doors.

However, it was _she_ who shoved him up against the door to his bedroom as soon as it shut. "Don't know how," she muttered between kisses, between yanking his identification lanyard off and pulling on the hem of his windbreaker, "you managed to walk away last week."

"With enormous difficulty," Killian assured her, pausing long enough to strip his jacket off and then doing the same with hers.

He left the medal on.

She squeaked when he grabbed her around the waist, lifting her up as she kissed him; she wrapped those glorious legs around his waist as he walked them towards the bed, grinding herself against him in a way that made him moan into her kisses. She giggled as they tumbled onto the bed, the box springs complaining loudly at the sudden weight. "Seriously, I feel amazing," she said as they lay on their sides, hands idly picking at buttons and zippers. "Like I can do anything - like I need to make this feeling last as long as I can."

"You _can_ do anything," he said, pausing his work on her shorts for long enough to tap her medal. "You just proved it to the whole world." He kissed her briefly, slipping his tongue between her lips and enjoying her blissful sigh. "And rest assured, love, I will definitely make this a night to remember."

There was a glint in her eye he liked, a challenge he was willing to meet. "Well then," she murmured, her tone slipping into something more seductive. "Let's see what you've got, Jones."

At some point over the last week, he'd entertained the thought of a slow strip, a thorough worship of her body as every inch of her was revealed to him. Now, though, Emma got up and stripped as quickly as she could manage while he followed suit - he prayed there might be another chance at another time to treat them both to a slow dance, but the need between them practically caused the air to crackle in anticipation.

Emma left the medal on.

"I'd wear mine, but I fear the noise might be a bit much," Killian said, reaching over to turn on the lamp on his bedside table.

He felt her climb back onto the bed and rolled to face her, propping himself up on one arm to watch her lay herself out bare next to him. She grinned, tucking her arms up behind her head. "I'd also like to keep this thing as unscratched as possible."

Killian fancied himself a man who wasn't impressed by much, but the way the light curved around her muscles and the way the shadows highlighted the hidden strength in her lithe form made him lightheaded. He reached out and traced the lines on her abdomen, faint but still there. "Emma, you look..."

She giggled and he met her eyes, a smile spreading on his face to match hers. "I know," she said softly, reaching up to cup the back of his neck and drag him down to meet her lips.

Her kisses were filled with the same urgency he felt in his blood, the need to join and chase that high they both craved. "I believe," he murmured against her lips, "that I made a request, love."

Emma hummed, her fingers dancing down his spine, the light scrape of her nails making gooseflesh ripple across his skin and his back arc into her touch. "It was after you kissed me," she whispered.

His lips met hers again, hungry for her words but starving for the taste of her. His lips found a path along her jaw, down her neck, his tongue lapping at the veins in her throat and making her words catch in her throat as she spoke. "I needed to - ah - get you out of my head," she said, her voice strained as he nipped at her skin, light enough to tease but not enough to leave any marks. "I took a shower, I - oh, there - I touched myself."

"Tell me what you thought of," he said, mouthing at her collarbone.

"You were with me," she whispered.

Killian envisioned her, gloriously wet and dripping, her skin slippery under his hands as he rode her into oblivion. "More," he rasped, trailing kisses down her chest.

As she spoke, he got the impression that she wasn't accustomed to vocalizing fantasies in the bedroom, at least not in this manner. Still, he was patient with her, savoring every whine, every gasp he could draw from her lips. He drew circles around her nipples, drawing them to tight peaks, holding back a grin as she tripped over her description of the same act she'd imagined.

He slipped one hand between her thighs, groaning lightly at how slick she was. Emma's voice broke as she arched into his touch, rolling her hips up to meet his fingers as he traced circles around her swollen nub and dipped down to tease her entrance. "Keep talking," he murmured, kissing a path down her taut stomach to the juncture of her thighs.

"You - fuck, you put one leg over your shoulder -"

Her legs parted for him and Killian settled himself between her thighs, hooking not one but both of her legs over his shoulders. His hands grasped her hips, tilting her body up a bit more for better access to her core. His eyes never left her face as he moved to part her folds with his fingers, her eyes watching his under heavy lids and over heaving breasts. "What was I doing?" he asked, grinning when she jerked at the feel of his breath on her sensitive flesh.

Emma swallowed hard. "You - you were eating me out," she whispered.

Her head fell back and her mouth opened with a cry as his tongue darted out to taste her sweetness. Killian groaned as he licked and laved her core, grinding his hips into the bed to ease the tightness in his groin. Her thighs squeezed his head as her body tensed, hips rolling with his tongue and his fingers as he alternated which he fucked her with. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmured when he paused for breath. "Let me hear you, let me feel those gorgeous legs of yours."

Emma gasped a question, then seemed to understand as she moved her legs, one heel pressing into his back while the other leg moved to press his head back down to her sex, silently urging him to get on with it. Killian chuckled against her, thrusting his tongue inside her again.

At one point, her hands moved from clenching the pillow above her head to molding her breasts, rolling her own nipples between her fingers. Killian moved faster, lightly sucking on her clit as his fingers thrust inside her, twisting, searching for that spot...

She tensed suddenly and she cried out as her orgasm took her; he felt her walls clench, her sweetness coating his fingers and his chin in a rush of liquid. "Bloody hell," he murmured as he pulled back a bit, slightly awed.

He brought his fingers to his lips, licking her essence from them. Emma's chest heaved as she caught her breath and her skin was flushed deep pink. "Sorry," she said. "I've never done that before, that -"

Killian moved up her body, putting a finger to her lips. "Don't apologize, love, I think that took us both by surprise. I've never seen it happen before."

She reached up and wiped some of the wetness from his chin, still looking a bit uneasy. "You're kind of a mess," she said, her tone apologetic.

He raised an eyebrow, grinning. "It's not a complaint, darling, but believe me, I'd be more than happy to return the favor." Her blush deepened and the way she bit her lip made him think she might not be adverse to getting a little messy herself. He nodded towards the bedside table as he sat back on his heels. "Condoms in the drawer."

Emma reached over and pulled one of the green-wrapped condoms from the drawer, glancing inside with a raised eyebrow at the small collection he'd amassed there. "Someone's prepared," she commented dryly, handing him the condom.

"Never hurts," he agreed. "It's only too bad there's no logo on it, I'm sure these could fetch a pretty penny or two on eBay."

Emma snorted, dissolving into giggles as he tore open the wrapper and rolled the condom on. He lightly ran his hands up and down her thighs as she settled down again. "I do have a request," he said as he lifted first one leg and then the other over his own splayed thighs.

"And what's that?" Emma asked, tilting her head slightly and eyeing him with a small smile.

"I would like you," he murmured, looming over her, "to wrap these lovely legs of yours around me," he moved to position his cock at her entrance as she lifted her legs higher, "and hold on tight."

He sank into her slick heat, groaning deep in his throat as she took him in to the hilt. He felt her lock her ankles at the small of his back, pulling him almost flush against her, as snug a fit as they could be. As he dropped to his elbows, his nose nudging hers, he felt the cool metal of her silver between them, a lovely weight on her chest and a reminder of why they were here.

They moved slow at first, getting to know the feel of one another's bodies and how they fit together. They teased and tested each other; he felt her squeeze her muscles around him, coaxing him to finish with her, but he had other ideas.

This wasn't a race; it was a marathon, and Killian intended to last.

They rolled a few times, changing positions; he quite enjoyed the view from the bottom, watching Emma's breasts bounce and her medal thumping between them as she rode him hard, her legs twined with his as her hands pressed against his chest. She came with a long, satisfied moan, her hips slowing as she eased herself through her pleasure. When she stopped, she opened her eyes, squinting at him through her lusty haze. "You didn't...?"

Killian grinned. "Returning the favor, love. If you don't mind, that is."

It took her a moment, but the instant blush on her cheeks told him the moment she recalled their banter earlier. "I - okay," she said, and she slipped off of him, moving to lay down again.

Killian rolled the condom off, tossing it onto the floor to be disposed of later. Emma eagerly welcomed him into her body again, her swollen sex feeling heavenly against his cock. He recalled only being this hard once before in his life, and by the same woman with even less effort.

This time was more hurried, skin slapping against skin in a hard rhythm as they both sought their releases. Her legs squeezed around him, urging him on harder, faster, deeper, and he knew when he found that spot insider again when her back arched and her mouth dropped open with a silent cry. He felt her walls squeeze him, dragging him to the edge, and he pulled out just in time for his own release to coat her stomach in thick, creamy ropes.

The only sound in the room for several minutes was their heavy breathing. Killian dropped onto the bed next to her, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face as his heart slowed. Emma mumbled something under her breath, her head lolling to the side as her breathing returned to normal. "Bathroom," she said finally, getting up with some effort.

They traded places when she returned, Emma collapsing onto the bed while he went to throw away the condom and clean himself up a bit. "What time is your press junket?" Killian asked as he got back onto the bed.

"I think it's at nine. Shit, no, it's at ten. Gold medal at nine. I definitely need to clean up before that," she said with a sigh.

Killian glanced at the clock; it wasn't overly late, not enough that she couldn't get a decent amount of sleep before leaving to get ready. "I'll set an alarm, if you'd like to stay."

She seemed to go still at that, then said, "I... I shouldn't..." His heart sank slightly, but he understood. But then she continued, "But I want to, if that's okay with you."

Killian couldn't possibly hide the grin on his face. "Alright, then. I don't snore, though I might hog the blankets."

Emma snorted, already turning down the covers and wriggling under them. "You'll have to fight me for them," she told him.

"Ah, love, I believe that's a fight I'm willing to give," he said, rolling over to set the alarm for an acceptable time.

* * *

The closing ceremonies were no less boisterous than the opening ones, but there was still an air of sadness among the athletes. Taking their cue from London, the Rio ceremonies allowed the athletes to walk in together in no particular order, highlighting the reinforced bonds of the international community after two weeks of friendly competition.

Emma walked in with her friends and her sister by her side, their medals gleaming proudly under the lights as they waved to the cheering crowds in Maracanã. Well, most of her group waved with two hands, or waved one and flashed their medals with the other - she and Killian just waved with one, their other hands busy holding the other and giving the occasional teasing rub with a thumb.

They hadn't discussed what might happen next - they were both athletes, but they also both had jobs waiting in their respective countries, families waiting to celebrate when they got home. They'd traded contact information during one of the down moments yesterday, after they'd gone out to celebrate with Emma's family and after they'd slipped back to Killian's room and celebrated again with each other.

They weren't sure what would happen next. Part of her worried he'd forget about her the moment he got on the plane, but the rest of her suspected he'd be in England for a day or two at most before boarding the next plane to Minnesota.

As she glanced up at him and he caught her gaze, that lazy grin on his face as they found a place to stand and watch the rest of the ceremonies, Emma felt a little more secure in her suspicions.

They hadn't discussed what might happen, but she had a feeling they could handle whatever life threw at them next.


	3. Epilogue

**Thanks everyone for reading and leaving such lovely reviews! I had a lot of fun writing this and I'm glad you all came along for the ride!**

* * *

 _Four years later…_

Her visor did very little to soak up the sweat on her forehead. She was starting to see why so many travel sites had said that handkerchiefs were not only still common, but very popular accessories and gifts in Japan. Even in her bikini, the heat in Shiokaze was unreal.

"Humidity," Elsa had corrected her, more than once. "We're playing in an archipelago, it's not the heat, it's the humidity."

"It's fucking up my breathing is what it's doing," Emma had retorted, also more than once.

Their second games and their second chance for gold, Emma and Elsa were now the favorites to win - Kerri had retired after Rio, and while April had reunited with her old partner Jennifer, the media had spun a new Narrative around Emma and Elsa. They were doing their best to avoid the press as often as possible, shutting out almost all social media except posting the occasional photo or video on Instagram - their followers were really into Elsa's morning hair routine - but they couldn't turn off the chatter around them.

Emma retreated into her headphones a lot.

Still, it was nice to look up into the stands and see their cheering section - everyone was here this time, no need to split into home teams and away teams. Anna had sprung for new shirts, claiming they were lucky; the only thing different was the backs, with the Tokyo logo and "Swan-Jones/Adgarssen Tokyo 2020".

As she found Killian sitting among them, Emma reached up and fingered her rings fondly; it was impossible to play with her wedding rings on her hands, so she just wore them on a sturdy chain around her neck.

-/-

After they'd left Rio, Emma and Killian had exchanged a few emails and a few phone calls that still made her blush to remember them. After two weeks, she had to admit she was slightly disappointed that her initial suspicion of him just showing up at her place had been wrong. But they kept up the correspondence for about a month before he asked her what her schedule looked like for the next week.

She later blamed her weariness after a hard practice and a long day of helping out in Ingrid's shop for rattling it off without a second thought.

Three days passed without a further thought about the question. She did wonder why Killian was slower than usual to respond, but figured something had come up at work. It wasn't as if she'd always been quick to respond either, so she'd gone about her days - strength and conditioning, practices, helping out in the shop - and tried not to feel that pang of loneliness when her inbox was empty.

On day four, she'd barely set her dinner plate on the table when a knock at the door startled her. She wasn't expecting a delivery this late, and her family was in the habit of knocking and immediately coming in, so she'd approached the door with some wariness. When she opened it and saw Killian standing there with a carry-on in one hand and a single red rose in the other, her mouth dropped open.

And when the shock of seeing him at her doorstep passed, she'd had him in her bedroom, undressed, and at her mercy before she'd even thought to ask how in the hell he'd wound up at her apartment. As it turned out, the firm Killian worked for had connections in Minneapolis and several of his accounts were based there. Something had come up that needed attended to personally, and would it bother Killian much to fly to America so soon after coming home?

No, he'd said, it absolutely would not.

The week he spent in her apartment had ended too quickly and neither one seemed willing to let the other go for very long. Finally discussing it, they decided that between his work schedule and her competition schedule they could figure out how to make a long-distance relationship work. Emma competed in Europe often enough for FIVB and Killian requested to take on more accounts that would take him Stateside, and they tried to balance out the traveling as much as they could.

She wasn't sure which took her by more surprise: when he'd transferred to the Minneapolis office permanently or when he'd asked her to marry him. She thought for sure he'd want to stay with his fencing coaches in the UK and they'd only been officially dating for about ten months - but he had contacts for a new team in the States and he'd assured her that he'd known she was the one the moment he'd set eyes on her again in Copacabana.

They both cried when she said yes and they were married three months later in a small ceremony with their families and a few close friends in attendance.

Incidentally, Liam being Killian's best man and Elsa being Emma's maid of honor was what led the pair to start their own long-distance relationship.

-/-

Now, Emma glanced along the two rows that her family and friends occupied. Elsa's friends from Rio, the Nolans, were there, as was Killian's teammate Robin. Emma had only met Robin's wife Regina a few times, she still wasn't sure what to make of the formidable woman; the couple sat close together, with their son Roland sitting next to Robin. Emma knew there was an older son as well, prepping for his first year at 'uni'.

Still, despite not knowing them that well, it was touching that they came out to show their support. Emma just hoped the scheduling gods would let her return the favor for Robin.

Her mouth twisted wryly as her gaze moved down the row of team shirts her family sported; she appreciated the support, really, but the slogan was still a bit hard to swallow. Kristoff was as big as a mountain and practically a billboard for them, while Kai seemed to be telling anyone in earshot that his aunties were playing in the Olympics - _again_.

Killian, sitting between Ingrid and Liam, also sported a shirt; it was only visible thanks to his absolute refusal to wear the Team GB windbreaker in the middle of a Tokyo summer. He wore the ballcap and his identification lanyard instead. He'd also complained that Emma wasn't his _sister_ , she was his _wife_ , but Anna had won that argument by stating "Wives and Sisters" made it sound like some _Sister Wives_ thing, and Liam had agreed - at least waiting until he and Elsa could tie the knot, then he and Killian could wear matching "Wives Make the Best Team" shirts the next time.

Emma and Elsa had argued against that slogan too, but everyone else had pretended to be deaf and their complaints went unheeded.

They had four years to wear their men down on that one.

Killian spotted her looking at them and pointed Emma out to their one-year old daughter Libby - she sat on his knee, her dark brown hair clearly thriving in the humidity and showcasing how Grandma Ingrid had given up trying to tame it. Emma waved to them both, blowing kisses. Libby's shirt was similar to her cousin Kai's, only hers read "Mommy and Auntie Make the Best Team", and she wore noise-cancelling headphones decorated with the stars and stripes. She wouldn't need them in the Makuhari, though, and it delighted Emma to tease her husband and brother-in-law about Libby's lack of Team GB spirit.

Liam, who shared a hotel room with his niece and Ingrid, had sent several pictures of Libby - beaming and oblivious to her uncle's schemes - wearing some of Killian's extra Team GB gear in retaliation to Emma's teasing.

An official's whistle blew and broke her out of her reminiscing. Emma turned away from the stands, settling into her game headspace. She breathed deeply and the noise of the crowd faded into a mild background buzz. They'd improved in the last four years, even with Emma taking time off for her pregnancy with Libby; it had done Elsa some good to work with other players for a while and she brought fresh ideas to their team once Emma came back. They'd walked away from several international competitions with gold medals.

They could do this.

Elsa glanced over her shoulder, nodding as Emma caught the ball and spun it between her fingers a few time to test the weight. Emma nodded back, taking another deep breath and setting her shoulders. Even the heat seemed to fade away as she zeroed in on the feel of the ball in her hands and sand between her toes.

Her rings sat comfortingly on her breastbone and her husband and family were watching in the crowd. Their second Olympics, the favored for gold.

"You _can_ do anything," Killian had said four years ago on the most memorable night of her life.. "You just proved it to the whole world."

And she was going to do it again.

They were going to do it again. All three of them. Her and Killian and Elsa.

Emma tossed the ball up into the air and served.

* * *

 **I'm on Tumblr as initiala!**


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